Daddy’s Girl (Re-publish)

18. June 2009 by Annette Colon-Alvarenga.

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“. . . because those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”   The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.” Romans 8:14-16

I have read this verse of Scripture over and over and over again during the last 11 years. And while it is an incredible promise, I had never really been able to make it quite mine – until now.

Last month my father, who lives in Arizona, announced that he was coming by for a visit. While a normal reaction after not seeing him for more than two years would have been feeling joyous, I immediately felt my anxiety level begin to rise. As his date of arrival approached, my mood changed dramatically. I became angry and frustrated.

My father and I have had a difficult relationship. My parents divorced when I was about 8 years old. Living with him was very difficult as he was the by-product of a very strict upbringing and he wanted to exert the same type of dictatorship in our home. While my mother and brother suffered at his actions and words, I mainly suffered watching how they were affected. My main role was always to be as good as possible, always walking on egg shells, so as not to cause any negative reaction from him. Their divorce was, as far as I was concerned, a great relief.

Some years after the divorce, my father would move out of state. I was sure to send him his cards for father’s day, his birthday and Christmas. I would make efforts to visit him out of state. I tried very hard to please him, to be daddy’s girl. Eventually I would feel that, despite my efforts, none of what I did was ever good enough. As the years have passed, the visits have been much less frequent and initiated by him rather than me.

My relationship with my heavenly Father has been somewhat frustrating as well. I have always understood that He is my heavenly father. The problem has been separating Him from what I have known as “father.” Yes, even after hearing sermon after sermon relating to this, I have been walking on egg shells for about the last 5 years trying to please God. And each time I mess things up or fall short of my own expectations, I end up frustrated for not being “good enough.” And the concept of seeing God as “Abba Father” and truly capturing the essence of what that means in my relationship to Him has been somewhat incomprehensible. I remember sitting in a bible study and listening attentively as a friend of mine described her relationship with her father and the impact that has had in her relationship with God; her ability to come that close to God so as to touch His cloak. I’ve always envied that about her because as hard as I’ve tried, I’ve never been able to feel that I can come that close to Him.

My father’s visit was cut short. He decided to return home sooner than expected as he has not been well. After saying our good-byes, I had to come to terms with the fact that I still held some serious resentment towards my father, as well as feelings of rejection and inadequacy that resulted from our relationship. I realized that my constant struggle with striving for perfection (and the constant disappointment in never achieving it) has been a direct result of my apparent need of his acceptance. And then I realized how my relationship with him and all of the resulting feelings have had a tremendous impact on my personal relationship with God as my Father.

I have also had time to reflect on the tremendous amount of love, mercy and grace my heavenly Father has showered me with over the years. He has covered me and protected me. He has shown me an incredible amount of favor, especially when I have not deserved it. He has set me apart and has placed His seal on me authenticating me as His child (2 Cor. 1:21-22). He has accepted me as His daughter just as I am. I am good enough for Him, not because of who I am, but because of who He is. I can with all confidence draw near to him and call him “Abba.” And I am, by all definitions, Daddy’s girl.

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